


Of Elf and Orc

by Melkora



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cute Orcs, Drama & Romance, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Horny Orc, M/M, Orc Culture, Orc Medicine, Orcs, Orcs are sexy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please be lenient, Shy Legolas, Slash, Slow Burn, Virgin Legolas, my first work in english, orcs are cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-03-02 10:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13316592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melkora/pseuds/Melkora
Summary: This story takes place in an alternative world where the War of the Ring didn´t end up with the overwhelming victory of the forces of the West, but with a dull inauspicious truce. In the border areas of Gondor, as well as in the disputed teritory of Ithilien, the detached units of the Dark Army, as well as a bunch of goblins and other strange mysterious creatures, who should be avoided, are wandering. What could possibly happen to Prince of Mirkwood, when he strays too deep into this land?





	1. The Fall

"Lul gijak-ishi!"  
"Nagrih! Nagrih, nar thos!"  
Resonated in Legolases ears. His head was spinning around strangely and ran from side to side until it seemed, that it didn´t want to hold on to his neck. His eyelids grew thick and and heavy as if he had just woken up from a restless, troubled dream. Or as he was just about to fell into it. To a dream! To a strange dream, in which everything was covered with a black vague veil, and his arms and legs were made of some sparse slushy paste, stretched along fathoms and fathom into a distance that he didn´t even know where it was ending, and where he had lost control over them ages ago. To a dream, in which somewhere surprisingly close sounded a hum of a giant waterfall, and over its rumbling din, somebody breathed sharply and feverishly whispered:  
"Nagrih! Do not move, you elf filth, do you understand me?"  
Legolas, exhausted to death, managed to nod. These words... were they intended for him? That could not be! Who would tell him such a thing and why? Why´s the warerfall roaring that much? And how've it even emerged here? They after all weren´t by a waterfall! They were ... he vaguely remembered that he was with the Gondor border guards on a patrol at IthiIien. Their scout told them that they had discovered a small horde of orcs, only scanty armed, somewhere nearby ... But, no! This was not his unit! His unit full of stately, proud and first-class warriors of Gondor has disappeared somewhere. And instead there was a black fog and a hoarse voice that urgently snaped strange orders in some sort of unintelligible speech, despite the fact that there was nowhere near a single face to be seen that could be assigned to this foreign unknown voice.  
Legolas did not understand anything!  
After a moment, another sound passed through that misty fog. Being distant at first, gradually becoming more and more pronounced. The elf realized after a while, that this was somebody's voice. But this, unlike the first one, sounded familiar! Like human! And he had some sort of vague impression that he had heard it before, or even more that he should know him well. If he only remembered the name, if he ... Heaviness grew stronger, and it was accompanied with something that he was convinced was a stroke of a drum. The only thing that puzzled him was, that he feels the strokes in his head. In his own temple. Suddenly he grasped it. It was his pulse! That what he hears pounding so furiously is his own heart.  
The familiar voice echoed again, stronger than before, although nothing of what he said could be distinguished. Confused and chaotic, some others began to add themselves.  
"Nagrih!"  
There was a terrible whisper behind him, somehow stronger this time.  
"Duilin, Commander Duilin!"  
Suddenly Legolas realized, full of joy. He thought, he should warn the commander. Report to him. Then, from nowhere, his bewildered mind noticed the harsh rough dark palms, stubbornly pressed against his mouth, and reliably preventing him to even utter a sound, as if they had not even existed a tiny moment before. He tried to move to shake them down, but the world twisted with him and his eyelids, suddenly too heavy, starded to narrow themselves spontaneously. He wanted to put his head to the ground to rest, but in that blow he realized he was leaning against somebody´s chest, raising up and down sharply.  
"Do not move!"  
That gruff voice repeated, and the elf suddenly felt a familiar pressure on his throat.  
Blade!  
He frowned his head in fear.  
I have a knife under my neck.  
"Prince! Prince Legolas!"  
An urgent from Duilin's voice was even mor intense.  
Legolas wondered vaguely where he had just ended up. His eyes were as good as they were in the dark, but they were not very helpful. In his nostrils, the scent of clay and decaying leaves tickled him.  
Perhaps some pit!  
He wondered.  
"Perhaps a root hole ... a stunned bank ..."  
"They had to take him with them."  
There was another human being out there, apparently someone of the soldiers. It sounded to him like from an incredible distance.  
"So you´r a prince?"  
Hissed the creature that held him in in dire straits.  
"Even better!"  
He continued with threats.  
"Wait, I'll cut you throught before you even manage to say, your Majesty."  
The elf started to melt in the black fog again at that moment. The men's voices suddenly became quieter, more distant and unimportant, just as the hand clutching his mouth, and even the cold knife edge on his neck. The last thing he´d heard was the blunt hitting of the horse's hooves on the ground, but they soon ceased. Then he could only see two elusive arms that grabbed him, lifted him into the air, and rolled over something. He felt like he was lying there, as if he had been carried. But he did not care. The only thing he wanted was to lie and sleep. His eyes closed slowly and resigned, and he lost consciousness.

A sharp, painful squeeze awakened him, hard-pressed into his left thigh, wildly vibrating all over his body. He found himself lying on some sort of shaggy rug, in the middle of something that looked like a deep dense bushes. He moaned loudly, his eyes straining to his leg. He was surprised to find that his trousers were cut and his thigh was wrapped in a piece of white cloth through which the red bloodstains were seeping through. Next, a piece of a stick, relatively straight and quite thoroughly cleaned, apparently serving as a makeshift splint, was firmly attached to each side.  
And, of course, he could not overlook his wrists being strapped duly with a firm, tight rope.  
"Surprised, elfie?"  
There was a familiar voice over him.  
Legolas struggled sharply, and despite the new flush of violent pain that had rushed through him, he turned to search for his source.  
"I was doing my best, but you know, that buffoons of yours has driven the guy with the pharmacies away."  
The voice, a bit derisive, continued, with the harsh, screaming sound that brought Legolas immediatelya shiver to his core . He began to slowly realize that he´s probably stucked a really serious mess. His head still screamed wildly, but his mind had recovered enough to be able to guess whose clowes had he fallen into.  
"The wound in your leg was pretty deep."  
The other didn´t stop recount.  
"In the end, I cut it off with a simple needle and thread, and you can thank who you pray to, that I have the habit of wearing a sewing kit along."  
Finally, finally, Legolas managed to turn his head in the right direction just to see exactly what he was afraid of. With his breath held, he stared at a huge uruk, clothed in a bushy fur with a light sword and a bow across his shoulder. He towered over him with his hands on his hips, staring directly in his eyes with a scornful grin. Legolas, exhausted, rolled himself back to the grouund. With resignation he fixed his eyes up at the fading sky. There was only one question in mind.  
"Why you didn´t kill me?"  
He whispered unintelligibly.  
"Because I'm not as stupid as an elf!"  
The creature replied with a sardonic laughter.  
"I do not knock everytning alive off, before it get closer than five inchesh to me. And sometimes I ask first. Maybe you, guys, should try it sometimes."  
"Come on!"  
Legolas was starting to get the grasp.  
"What do you want from me?"  
"A small service!"  
The creature smiled.  
"Information!"  
Sudenly, the blood was starting to boil in the elf, at the moment.  
"What?" Do not count on me telling you anything, you repugnant monster! Not even if ... "  
He ran out of effort. Even the thought of what the beast had proposed to him had filled him with a righteous resistance. Even in the rage of anger, he lifted his head and torso sharply, to shout his contempt directly into the face of this despicable creature, who in his corruption was about to believe, he would ever betray his master. Unwittingly, as his condition allowed, he straightened his spine and lifted his chin. He tried to resist his bonded forearms to give his speech an emphasis, but he did not even finish the sentence when his stomach suddenly turned upwards with unexpected sharpness. Legolas gasped in surprise and, with a loud thud, he fell back on the rug, breathing abruptly for a moment, able only to perceive how his mouth was filling up with saliva and beads of cold sweat was sprouting on his forehead. The only thing he was afraid of at that moment was that he would ignominiously vomit in front of the orc.  
But he had, as it seemed, a completely different idea. The Elf suddenly gaze in terror at his impressive figure loomoing over him looking even bigger than before, almost as though he had grown up a bit, and at his face, which the expression has turned almost miraculously from a derisive, sarcastic disdainfulness, into something that was almost throbbing with a ferocious unrestrained wrath. It just occured to the frightened Legolas that he was looking directly in the face of the darkness itself. Instinctively he backed his head a few inches back, but it didn´t help.  
Two, three fierce jumps and the monster was bent directly over him. One of his hands went to the prince's mouth and gripped it firmly, the other rised fiercely and struck violently to the darkening bloody staining outlined on the bandage over his left thigh. instantly a sharp madening pang of pain penetrated his body The elf, in that blow, was sweeping all the pain. His eyes opened wide and the spine bent into a bow arc. The palm pressing his lips safely absorbed any cries of pain.  
"Well, your Majesty!"  
The uruk squeezed out a threatening gesture, and every word coming out his mouth dinged as if it was a violent splinter blow of a giant hammer. His eyes flashed wildly.  
"Here you don´t sit on your noble throne, you are rolling in the dirt, and I reign here!"  
suddenly there was another blow on his thigh as devastating as the first one.  
"So if I were you, I would thing of how useful can I make myself, otherwise I have no reason not to leave you here as you are."  
"And how long do you think it takes to the wolves to find you?"

He finally added, somehow more relaxed, and his hands rose from Legolas's body.  
The elf just exhaled a few times, still shaken with pain. His lips trembled, his eyes wide with horror. There was a wild hot throbbing in his wound, and he had hard times to keep the agonizing groans down his throat. He had never felt so humiliated all his life.  
However, the orc seemed to be satisfied with his work. He slightly, barely noticeably raised the corner of his mouth. And as if there was not enough of surprise for today, he left the elf astonishingly wonder, where the frantic monster, ready to maul him to death, suddenly had gone. Now there was just an ordinary uruk above him. Little bit of cheeky, little bit of impertinent. Scrutinizing him with his stern, piercing eyes.  
"Hey!"  
He told him almost friendly.  
"I´ll show you something."  
And he reached out for his haversack, from which he removed a small package. If the prince could assess, it was something carefully wrapped in a fine fabric. For a while, the orc rummage through something turning his back on him and then he put the thing, already unwraped, directly under his nose.  
Legolas couldn´t be more overwhelmed. For a few seconds, he stared straight at a volume, bound in a delicate hogskin, carefully dyed in a colour of deep ochre. And more, a massive orc mitt was toting it directly in front of his eyes. He lifted his head slightly, perhaps to make sure his eyes are not playing trics with him, and bewilderedly studied the precise details of few familiar symbols thet were imprinted into the spine of the book.  
"It is..."  
He exhale in a muffled tone. Meanwhile uruk did not allow himself even the slightest breath. The tension was almost palpable.  
"Quendi!"  
Added the elf and lifted his hands together, as if to touch that gorgeous fascicle, and make sure with his own senses that he didn´t make it up.  
"So you can read it, I´ve kown it!"  
The orc was clinging to him, his face glowing with enthusiasm.  
"Where did you stole it!?"  
Legolas snapped at him suspiciously, but he just shrugged his nose and raised the corner of his mouth with amusement, as if Legolas had just cracked some great joke.  
"It is not your business!"  
He replied cheerfully, his eyes flashing. His attention, however, was almost immediately turned back to the mysterious file.  
"There are pictures in there and maps! Maps!"  
He whispered feverishly and tried to lift the elf a little, to give him a better view of that enigmatic jewel. he couldn´t care less about his diffident protests or the stifled groans full of suppressed pain. Finally he managed to lean elf´s back and head against his vast chest and hug him with his arms so the book he still held in his hands lay in front of the elf´s eyes.  
"Something big there in the mountains!"  
And excitedly, he stuck his fingernail into one of the drawings.  
"Otherwise, Sharku would´t have it in his library. It was a shame, Azog had it all under his nose, they all had it under their noses, and nobody noticed it, but here it is clearly painted, and you know what it is and where it is hidden. Disclose it for me and no tricks if you want to live. "  
He kept jabbering and scrutinized the book. His fingers trembled in the process.  
The pages moved so swiftly in front of the elf eyes that he could hardly recognize single runes. In spite of it, he had succeeded in at least basic understanding of the text. It filled him with unbelievable astonishment. Is it even possible that this low creature ... This orc! Could he have something so sublime in his possession? How could it possibly get to him? Does he even understand the gem that his rude claws have captured? Can it all be true, or is he captured inside some peculiar evil delusion?  
"Well, wait, wait!"  
He screamed at his prisoner, and he, a tiny bit surprised and a little embarrassed by that unexpected boldness, ceased the flood of his words. Then, there was a silence during which the orc left Legolas alone, so he could, even somehow awkwardly, turn to the relevant chapter, and waited humbly for what his prisoner could find out.  
"So what?"  
He dared to ask a curious question after a while. Elf's mind, however, was so enthralled by the mystery of the text, it seemed he have forgotten the mere existence of the orc.  
When he finally spoke, it was meant more for him rather than for his usurper's ears.  
"The treasure of Queen Melian!"  
His voice resounded the dull forest silence.


	2. The Deal

The eastern sky slowly turned white and the crescent of morning sun began to appear over the horizon when the peculiar couple left their provisional camp.  
For the rest of the late night and the whole early morning, Legolas enthused over the narrow volume and browsed through it, narrating the story of the vanquished realm of Belerianthe to his amazed captor. The story about his most famous kingdom, called Doriath and its powerful Queen Melian. About the Lake of Twilight, where the first elves woke up into the life, and where this mighty ruler, acording to this strange mysterious book, had to conceal her gem, before she returned to her homeland, Valinor, after the death of her husband, King Elu Thingold.  
In his aching, tired head, there were thousands of thoughts swirling wildly .  
Is it possible, he mused, that this is real? Is it really what it looks like? Does he just hold a Melian's diary? Her handwritten notes? Drawings? If that's true, what kind of inscrutable way of fate led it to him, the prince of the Mirkwood? Does he really see, what he sees or is it just a despicable sham? The deception, which exists only to confuse him, and which, as a morning fog above the river, disappears with the sunrise? But, if it's just a delusion, why does it look so real?  
"Where did you sto... Where did you get it?"  
He said to the orc, now much more meekly and raised his eyes to him in diffidence.  
"From the Orthanc!"  
The orc replied.  
"I picked it up from Sharkan's library after what-"  
Sudenly he stopped and fell silent.  
"Sharku, the White Sorcerer. He lived in a black tower and rulled all over the northeast."  
He added when he noticed Elf's uncomprehending look. But Legolas was slowly starting to puzzle it out.  
Saruman! He dragged his head. It could be none other than Saruman. Saruman the White, a former lord of Isengard, who betrayed his order as well as the nations of the West and joined the enemy.  
Sure, Legolas keeped musing, he was a great wizard, but could he really have a diary of Lady of Doriath herself in his possession? Perhaps! Perhaps! And if that's the case, can he, the heir of the Mirkwood throne, permit that her greatest jewel, the Naughlamir necklace itself, should fallen into the claws of this sordid beast? How to prevent it? How?  
"So, a treasure, you say, elf!" He sniffed. Naughla ... something. "  
And broke off the stream of Legolas´s thoughts.  
"Well then!"  
The orc continued.  
"You´ve just deserved your miserable life. I won´t leave you in here. I´m going to search for the treasure. I´ll take you with me, to read my map. But if you´ve lied to me... !!!  
He rised his hand and made a gesture so proverbial that it was immediately clear how terrible fate awaits the poor Prince, if he failed the Uruk´s trust.  
So they set out for the journey! Slowly and steadily, Legolas was supported from one side by a helpful orc, from the second by a massive stick which his kidnapper somewhere managed to scramble for him.  
"That Naughla... thing! Said the orc after a long period of silence.  
"What can it do?"  
Legolas shrugged his forehead.  
"It is..."  
He shook himself uncertainly.  
"It's the greatest and most beautiful jewel ever made by the dwarves, the gem of the unprecedented prize ..."  
"Ok then!"  
He interrupted the elf impatiently.  
"But what is it good for?"  
Legolas exhaled! He had no idea how to explain to this depraved creature that lacked the sense for fine art and could appreciate the beauty for herself, the real prize of Naughlamir?  
Interrupted him the orc impatiently.  
"For the sake of the Great Darkness, can it at least be sold?"  
For the elf, it was as a dawn of a new life. He immediately realized that he had just multiplied chances not only to get a precious jewel into his possession, but also to save his skin.  
"My father would be ... interested."  
He spoke quietly and with an extreme caution.  
The uruk sudenly brightened up.  
"Well, posh boy! It seem that we have an agreement."  
And as evidence that he meant it, he shaked his hand.  
"By the way!"  
He said eventually.  
"I'm Marghul!"


	3. Smutty touches

Legolas huddled beneath the hard, cold rock wall, to which Marguhl a while ago had spread their rug and a blanket. His forehead almost touched it, as if he was unconsciously looking for protection from this solid, robust stone. As a child playing a game. If he sacrifices something from his space, he though, there will be less of space left for the intruder. Albeit he knew precisely that, this could not be true. Marghul is definitely not the one to fool around.  
His gaze was stealthily wandering to the discreet fire, his captor dared to light up withnout fear. His prisoner has so far avoidded the flames, however tempting, as an irreversible compromising proof of their presence, at any time capable of bringing the attention of the Gondor border guards or the rest of the Prince's soldiers , who could, as he believed, still be found in their immediate vicinity, to follow their footsteps.  
Now, it seemed, he gained an impression that the greatest danger had finally passed. Legolas watched more and more closely the Orc's better mood and growing confidence. The tension and alertness he had seen in him from the beginning of their common journey, seemed to disappeare somewhere, and with it also the elf's hopes, which he had put into the experienced scouts of Gondor. He was achingly aware that the salvage, he'd been hoping for, would probably never come.  
Marghul, in a hurry, trampled the rest of the glowing coals down into the soil and with a sleepy yawn he headed toward the provisional bed of fur. Legolas froze in alarm, but Marghul plumped down with an utter ease. With one hand, he threw a blanket over them both, while the other flashed across the prince's thin, slim body, and almost effortlessly pressed it against the Marghul´s one. Legolas blurted out a stuffle groan and Uruk snorted.  
"What´s up, princeling?"  
He laughed.  
"Can you not catch your breath?"  
The elf didn't even peep and kept lying stiffly. Marghul bent over him, in the manner he´ve done several nights before, and slowly, as if delighted with his smell, he started to inhale. Though Legolas could not imagine it was possible, he pushed himself even harder into the rocky wall.  
"Well, well!"  
The orc sputtered with satisfaction after a moment.  
"That elvish profligacies of yours have slowly faded away of you. You start to smell like you."  
"What I´m trying to say," he whispered, his lips almost touching Legolas's ear lobe, "not like some stupid flower, but like real you!"  
And the elf shuddered as he felt the delicate tip of his bolt was stroked with the warm ghul´s breath. Instinctively he shook his head, but not far enough to get out of reach of those tiny black lips. He swallowed dryly, displeasingly embarrassed, in a vain attempt to break out of Marghul's embrace. His heart was pounding in disdain. Marghul laughed softly and a cheekily. Perhaps the elf's nervousness gave him boldness, perhaps he only wanted to deepen his uneasiness. Who knew? So Legolas suddenly felt the rough, wide palm as it gently touched his chest, as if wanted to kiss it. Even before he had been embarrassed enough to realize what was going on, the brazen, shameless hand went over sluggishly across his chest and hips and moved steadily lower and toward the waist. On the way it stopped here and there to tease its fingertips around his skin, or play with his cloth. The prince didn´t dare even to breathe. But when he suddenly felt the tip of orc´s forefinger gently bent over the hem of his trousers, it felt like a flash of light rushing through him. He jerked in alarm, and as only his wrists allowed him, he tried to push the bold intruder away from his own territory.  
"Mar ..."  
He gasped in a vain effort ro react, but it was more than impossible to do anything meaningful. He cleared his throat awkwardly. But Uruk seemed to get the message. With a scornful snap, he pulled back and laid his arm back around Legolas's shoulders. It laid there, relaxed, motionless and calm. The elf looked at him shyly. Margul's nose was comfortably settled between his shoulder blades, and his knees bent under elf´s thighs. Suddenly, Legolas heard a calm periodical breathing behind his back.  
But he himself could´nt narrow his eyes. His mind desperately sought something to focus on. Something besides the hot, slimy hand that touched him a moment before, in a way nobody had ever touched him before. And he found it!  
"Marghul!"  
He hissed!  
"Can I ask you something?"  
"Hm ..."  
The orc, who´ve already made his comfort between the fur on the fur next to Legolas, grunted in annoyance.  
Suddenly Legolas didn´t know how to begin.  
"I heard, that is ... it is said ..." he stammered, "that you, I claim, that you were created by the mighty Saruman, the wizard, in the dark pit of Orthanc, to serve him in a war against the world ...."  
"It's ... Is that right?"  
"What?"  
Marghul laughed and, although he was about to sleep, he straightened on his elbows and stared at the elf.  
"That's the stupidiest thing I´ve ever heard. Who´d deluded you into believing this?"  
He uttered! Legolas's naivety seemed to interest him.  
"In a while, you'll start to tell me that the little elflings are brought into this word by a stork, well packed in a diaper, straight in the cradle, right?"  
He gnawed at him.  
"I guarantee you, prince, that I haven´t been created by any Sarrahh... whatever. ... this one, was made by a mom and dad in an old fashioned way, all right? Like that!"  
With his hand, he made a gesture so vulgar that Legolas stared at him with his mouth wide open and his ears flushing. Uruk, however, ignored the Prince's discomfiture, and went on cheerfully.  
"People are claiming that, they were screaming so loudly" he said, "that the whole camp was rushing to their tent to make sure, there´s no murder going on, so there are witnesses for it!"  
He ended his magnificent speech with a convincing argument.  
Legolas was just gasping for breath.  
"You elves!"  
Marghul took advantage of that unexpected pause. "  
"May I ask you something?"  
"Well ..."  
That was all, Legolas, completely astonished, managed to forced out of himself. Marghul took it as a permission.  
"Are you a virgin?"  
Legolas was convinced, his ears are playing tricks on him.  
What? Is he ... is he really asking, if I am....!  
The thoughts were rushing through his head, but he himself was dumbfounded.   
This one has no manners at all! No breeding!  
He pondered furiously, while his ears were not only red, but blazingly scarlet.  
How can he ask for something like this? Something so ... intimate! And in such a manner... As if he wanted to know, what was for lunch today?   
Uruk interpreted his silence unmistakably.  
"You´re a virgin!"  
He repeated a little more mockingly, now more like a statement than a question. There was a grin on his lips and even some kink of flash in his eyes, that the elf himself couldn´t decipher. He sensed, he should to say something. Something, that Marghul couldn´t confuse his embarrassment for contempt. But what, by all the mighty valar? How to answer this? At home, nobody would dare to ask the Prince of Mirkwood such a bizarre question. Everybody would know ... they would understand ... that ... "  
"I..."  
Muttered Legolas, looking away and ashamed to his very core.  
"Never ... I never had a wife ..."  
And then he stared blankly at Marghul shrieking on the ground in laughter.  
"So, it's true!"  
He shouted as he grabbed his own belly in the mirth.  
"You elves don´t fuck!"  
And he patted the puzzled Legolas on his shoulder.  
"And if," he added with a conspiratorial wink, "then as a punishment!"


	4. The Morning

When Legolas woke up in the morning, the sky in the east was already stained with blood-red clouds. The massive Marghul's body, whose radiant heat he´ve felt behind his back at the night and for most of the nights before, wasn´t there. Instead of that, the delicate ears of his, were hearing a silent rustling of the grass and the dry leaves, and occasionally the crackling of the little branches, which were getting into orc´s way, when he wasn´t carefull enough. The Elf was almost certain that a few days ago, Marghul would not allow such carelessness. The sudden feeling of self-confidence, growing in his kidnapper only disturbed Legolas even more .   
He wondered what could the orc be doing , so, as his tied up wrist enabled him, he lifted himself and tried to turn around to see what was going on behind his back. But one of his movements was obviously too swift. Or too fast, or somehow else wrong in some way because it caused a sharp pang of pain passing through his entire body as if a knife was stucked into the woun at hit tight. With a loud groan that he couldn´t hold back, he turned back and hit back on the rug. Marghul, who was carefully covering up any visible remains of their presence, raised his head, and then, with a worried look, he skipped back to their common dwelling place.  
"What´s up?"  
He barked at the elf with a surprisingly exasperated tone. Legolas just pointed his arms to his injured leg. But, as if he didn´t need Legolas's guidance, the orc, without hesitation, began to unfasten the bandages of the wound . The elf was silently and motionlessly lying on the ground, breathing severely.  
"Damn!"  
The orc blurted.  
"What ... what's wrong?"  
Stammered his captive.  
"But...!"  
Marghul snarled in reply.  
"It's getting fester."  
And he gently pushed his fingertips to the red edges of the hole in Legolas's thigh. The elf just moaned in pain.  
"This doesn´t look good!"  
Continued the orc and his forehead wrinkled in concern.  
"If it goes on like this, we'll have to burn it, and then, my dear one, You´d piss yourself in pain."  
He scoffed scornfully.  
"Yeah, if I had at least a bottle of spritus, even a few drops!  
He smiled dreamyly.  
"But like this?"  
He waved his hand with anger.  
"When we run across some really clean water, I'll try to cut it out, I'm not a healer, but I still know a few tricks, and that's got to be done."  
He waved his head toward the worn dressings with all the blood stains, dirt and dust, while he tied the Legolas's leg up with a fresh shredded material.  
"If you won´t be able to walk, you're tot of use for me, kid, you're already holding me off right now."  
He added gruffly and bared his teeth in something that might have been a bitter smile.  
"So leave me here, if I'm so useless."  
Legolas chuckled, without straining to lift his head.  
"Good trial, princeling!"  
Marghul snorted scornfully.  
"How long do you think you'd survive in this state?"  
He looked at him questioningly.  
"I give you a day and a night, at the most!"  
This he had to leave unanswered. The prince of Mirkwood was so painfully aware that this beast was right in this. In the countryside of wargs , spiders, and many other enemy soldiers, he could become a painfully easy prey.   
Without Marghul's protection, his survival is not really possible.


	5. Sinful Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we´ll learn sometning about orc culture and a lot about elves attitude to sexuality.

The new, improved Legolases bandage was finally adjusted to the orcs of satisfaction. After that he finally relaxed enough to loosen Legolas's tied hands. The elf immediately sat down and rubbed his scraped swollen wrists with his fingers. Uruk did not hesitate for a second, and from the loose rope he splice a loop, which he tossed over the elfs head. It was not tied enough to hurt, but it held tight. Though the only thing it could bring to him was a slight discomfort, being draged on a rope like a dog and more, by this filthy creature, was more than the pride of his could handle. It was not for the first time, he´d ended up with a loop on his throat, and yet he was shaken by humiliation.  
"It is necessary?"  
He spoke quietly and with the greatest self-denial.  
"How could I escape you?"  
He bowed his head and stared to the ground, perhaps hoping to keep at least the last remnants of his dignity, and not allow the uruk to feast on his humiliation.  
But his assailant laughed mockingly.  
"If I have an elf archer behind my back, I wanna be absolutely certain."  
And then, as if with no obvious reason, he violently jerked the rope, perhaps only out of pure malice. Legolas's head sharply tossed itself and turned in the direction of the tug. His body unfortunately wasn´t able to react quickly enough to respond to this cruel treatment properly. The orc, on the other side, grinned triumphantly. Legolas, however shaken, struggled to regain the lost balance and as quickly as possible, he straightened up again. He scowled at his captor with a look full of anger and contempt. But immediately afterwards he became aware of his position of a defenseless prisoner and humbly lowered his eyes back to the ground, trying to curb his captors anger. But in spite of this, the flames of defiance still flashed from his eyes.  
But surprisingly a sudden expression of repentance appeared in te orc´s face.  
"Eh ... just a stupid joke!"  
He remarkedt as if it were not such a big deal , and scratched his neck.  
"Nothing personal."  
He added and looked at Legolas in a way that he could´t recognise differently then apologetic.  
"Even if you have a broken leg, you are still dangerous"  
He laughed embarrassedly. Legolas looked up at him in surprise. Suddenly Uruk seemed to be almost helpless.  
But the impression instantly vanished, when a vigorous "Let's go!" rang out of his mouth  
And his strong hand pushed elf´s stick into his lap. That stick, he had made himself a few days ago to relieve his wounded limb on their common journey.  
Uruk hurriedly hurled his rug, packed and bounded with a string, at his back, and without further hesitation they both headed northwest exactly as the map recommended. Neither of them spoke.  
Legolas slowly advanced forward with through an impassable forest landscape and tried to recover from that morning disgrace.  
Never, he mused, he was never treated this way by nobody before. For all his life was used to receiving the honors that went with his noble origin and the sylvan throne. Or with himself as the captain of the renowned archers of the Mirkwood. Virtually every creature he has ever encountered has never approached him with enything different than a respectful gentleness. Or, if it was an enemy, at least with respect. Everyone was trying to be restrained in order not to insult the successor of the throne, or to offend a mighty warrior. All of them, including his own father, King Thranduil, were formal and polite.  
Just this ... this one ...  
In Legolas, the helpless rage had burst out. It was slowly beginning to come to him, that to this sassy, arrogant, insolent, beast, for whom there is nothing sacred, he is neither a noble prince nor a dignified adversary. And at that thought, his throat get dry with anxiety. He realised, that he´s been exposed to something completely new and unknown to him, and that everything he had ever known and learned didn´t prepare him to become an yielding prisoner, left at the mercy of an Uruk soldier.  
"Without a touch of respect!"  
He whispered to himself as he glanced sharply at his companion. Sudennly a nearly forgotten memory of yesterday evening strayed into his mind. A memory of the harsh, calloused palm, which, with a surprising gentleness caressed his chest and abdomen. As well as the mocking reaction, that followed, when he admitted that he was ... that ... Legolas could not even think of it while the crooked creature had just snapped that thing aloud. It was as if the vicious creature had feasted on his constant humiliation. He spat it out, as if it were not the most secret, the most sacred taboo you can ever imagine.   
Legolas threw another unobtrusive look in the orc´s direction, now more scrutinizing than contemptuous.   
To the elves, his pears, he thought, it´s quite clear. Either they are married, and then they are ... then the physical intimacy is an expression of the closest bond between the man and wife and their shared desire to conceive, or they are like him ...   
The Prince suddenly found out, he was lacking of the words, for what he was trying to - even in his mind - express . He vaguely recollected a few short lessons he had learned from his nanny some years ago, but he had never learned much more afterwards. Both his father and his companions seemed to think, that he knew everything that was needed. And he did not allow himself to ask a single question at any time. He was not sure, but he could sense how much his more experienced friends would be embarrassed, if he asked them to share with him something so profoundly personal.  
But these ... these beings, he looked at Marghul and pondered further, they surely ... no doubt, that ... they certainly... They do not understand that physical intercourse is possible, but not necessary expression of the union of one man and one woman, but first of all profoundly spiritual, and that it´s essential to leave something mysterious, secret, so their common bond is not disturbed by vulgar sensuality.  
Marghul surely ... he must have already... The notion struck him like a lightning. This was not Marghul´s first time. He´d been already touching a person of the same sex this way. And at that thought, his chest was suddenly shivering in a strange new way. Again, stealthily, he turned his eyes toward his captor. He was silently treading through the forest, holding the end of the rope wrapped around Legolas's neck. He stared ahead, and didn´t pay any attention to his captive. The Elf took advantage of it, looking intently at him, as if he expected to discover the unmistakable traces of his corruption, distinctly engraved deep into his black skin.  
For a moment he just silently and gingerly observed the solid muscular, massive body moving steadily forwards. Abruptly his eyes slipped down at the hand, that - not long ago - had touched him so inappropriately. So intimately! To this arms that surely - and who knew why, he didn´t like that notion - has already been hugging another man's body, the other than his own.  
However, the prince suddenly realized where his unruly mind has strayed. No, where itcould have strayed, if he didn´t cease to be alert. Suddenly he broke out insweat. Yes, love for a woman could be replaced with manly friendship, but it must have always been, and at all costs, pure Platonic. Any sinful desires should always be suppressed. Regardless of, this ... this ... thug..  
"Shaataz!"  
Marghul said nothing, but this one word, interrupting the flow of elf´s thoughts.  
"What?"  
The prince turned his head toward him, shaking his forehead incomprehensibly.  
"Shaataz!"  
He repeated litte bit emphatically, as if the connection was quite obvious, and only Legolas's inborn indolence prevented him to see the full revelation. He didn´t bother give the poor elf poor elf even a single look  
"You asked yesterday, how the Uruk-hai were made. That's the name of our foremother."  
"I see!"  
Legolas replied, and for a moment he stood with his mouth open. So the foremother! He was astonished. So they have an ancestor and even know her name. But still, there was something missing in this story. Eventually he dared to ask a question that instantly started to shake in his head.  
"And ... forefather? Who was the forefather of yours"  
The orc laughed absently.  
"Madh Burzum!"  
He said, withnout even turning his head.  
"The Great Darkness!"


	6. The Origin of Orcs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Withnout erotic this time. But lots of orc myhtology.

For the rest of the morning Legolas patiently listened to the Marghul´s narration . The Uruk was obviously in a talkative mood , or maybe he was bored, or just annoyed with the constant silence. Either way, he decided that he would reveal to his captive the ancient history of his nation, handed over, as a precious gem, from one generation of the Uruk-hai to another.  
Word behind the word, sentence behind the sentence, it all came out of his mouth, and shocked Legolas was forced to ask himself whenewer this is real or just a dream.  
From a very youg age for all his life he was told, that these beings don´t have any real awareness of the flow of time. They taught him that the Orcs are nothing more than the malevolent monsters, who don´t care about the past, the dreadful future or the presence that , for them, is filled with never-ending suffering. In all the songs he has ever heard in the deep woods of his home, in the bard poetry as in the stories told by warriors in the campfire evenings, they appeared to him as a shameful shadow of real existence. As a mere mockery of a real life that only Illluvatar himself can set up into genuine nobility, and which Morgoth, the black enemy of Arda, once hideously mutilated in the depths of his dreadful hell.  
And now, once before his astonishing eyes, new unfamiliar paintings began to unfold. Painted by this crude soldier with his rough and mischievous voice. Without music and without verses, in plain short sentences. The more fascinating that he already knew the story. The story of the creation of Arda and the birth of Illuvatar's children was renowned amongst his Sindarian brothers and almost all of them have learnned it by heart. But he would never have believed that he would hear it from an orcs.  
"There are twelve major orc tribals."  
Marghul explained.  
"It´s been said, it´s according to the twelve foremothers who, in the blessed age of darkness, came out of the fortress of Votar-stor, that the Great Darkness had built up of the body of the goddess Dha, as a defense against the the goddess Draut, the ruler of the White Fire. Well... there are a lot more versions of this story out there. According to some of them, Dha and Burzum have merged into one person, others don´t claim it and consider them two separate beings. In some of them Dha simply doesn´t exist at all. They claim that there was only one Big Mother and it was Darkness itself. Because she was a woman from the beginning ... which, in my opinion makes no sense. Another legends say that ... Well, it's not important, because it's only logical that amongst all these stories, just one can be true. I´ll tell you the buffalo version. It´s not that it´s better in any way, or something. It´s just I know it the best. "  
The orc didn´t stop to jabber until the poor elf's head was spinning.  
"Wait!"  
He shouted at him, when he finally get the chance to interrupt that chaotic stream of words.  
"What kind of buffalo version are you talking about? And who this Dha is? And twelve tribes of what?"  
The orc stopped, giving Legolas a perfectly disdainful glance. Then he sighed soberly and started again, a little slower this time.  
"A long time ago, in the blessed age, the were twelve mothers, who came out of the Votar-stor fortress. They all were wives ofthe Great Darkness itself. Each of them gave birth to six daughters, each received a piece of land to live with her family and each was donated one a protective and auxiliary deity to serve her and her tribe. And it is said that Shaataz was the favourite of all his wives, and therefore she was also given the greatest piece of darkness to make her a mighty and powerful warrior. And her husband endowed her not with one but straight two protectors. A buffalo cow called Naga-mhad and a ram Khalou and the vast and wide plains in the northeast, he claimed to be her new home. Coz they are full of numerous and well-nurtured herds, which will provide her and her children with enough food forever, so they will never have to suffer from penury. And so we, the northeasterns, are called the Buffalo tribe, and likewise the region we live in is the Buffalo plane. "  
Legolas listened to the goblin with his eyes wide open. Suddenly, his narration became familiar to him.  
Lord of Darkness, Lord of Darkness! He reiterated in his mind. It can´t be any other than ....  
"Morgoth Bauglir!"  
He blurted out almost breathlessly, and shuddered with repulsion, only thinking of the gigantic evil.  
"What?"  
Marghul looked at him without the slightest bit of excitement.  
"I have not heard about anyone like this in my life."  
But the Elf did not have the slightest desire to pronounce the curse name twice. It was only a mere mention of the filthy creature that gave him goose bumps.  
"You ... do you believe that story?"  
He rather hurried to ask to lead the conversation elsewhere. The orc was silent for a moment, but then he broke into a clamorous laugh.  
"You got me, elf!"  
He spoke with a sly blink, and yet he managed to crack the elfs back, perhaps as an expression of respect for his insipid.  
"In my opinion, it's just a bullshit!"  
And he started again.  
"So ... the darkness exists, it is proven, it can be measured and calculated, but why should it be an omnipotent being, yeh? And why would it have anythind to do with the creation of the orcs? You know what I think about it ? "  
And he looked at the elf.

"In my opinion, we just grew up naturally. It's cold in the north, and there's nowhere to hide, and if you want to hunt the buffalo, you have to be big and strong, and these amongst us, who were not like that, just died of starvation. "


	7. Of the Word´s Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more about orc mytology.

Legolases heart skipped a beat. He himself would never, in a thousand years, allow himself to doubt that the elves were anything but the Eru's first-born children, and he couldn´t understand, where such a boldness had emerged in this beast. Despite this, the newly discovered unknown world attracted him for some strange reason. He knew, he was playing with fire, but he decided that he too could be bold for this time. He took a deep breath and asked.  
"Do you know any more stories?"  
And this is what Marghul´d told him:  
"At the beginning, there was a living void in which there was everything and nothing at once. And this void is called Nun. It doesn´t make sense to ask how long it took or where it was because there was not even a trace of space and time as we know it today. There´s a lot of people questioning it because it's too abstract for them. It's just that the other theories, like space and time, have always been here, don´t make much more sense, are they? Well, but it´s clear, that the time is still runing forward, so it's clear that somewhere it must have begun. Some people also say that time is running in circles, but ... well, whatever.  
So in this verse time and space have begun by the first breath of the goddess Dha, when she separated herself from the Nun's body. He wanted to win her back, becouse she was his mate, so he reached for her with his mighty hand and the two of them began to wrestle. And from her breath and Nune's anger an incredible amount of surreal peculiar spirits and mysterious beings have rised vanished again. They were so weird, it´s even unexpressible. Ant this creatures begun to dance with each other. They were dancing in a savage frantic rhythm. They were collapsing and falling, dying and being rebirth again. Everyone who would look at it from a distance - if there was anyone who could look at it - everyone would be convinced that he was looking at absurd, cruel, violent, chaos. Despite that, the dance had its logic. Its inner law, which we, mortals, can barely understand with our simple stupid minds. Finally, when the world belame a little bit calmer, the two major powers rose up from this primordial turmoil. Light, that is also called white fire, and The Darkness! The Darkness manifested itself as a winner, the ruler of the primal chaos, because it was the strongest of all these original beings. Names of these two entities were Draut and Madh Burzum, and both of them was reportedly brought into life by Nun, because he wanted them to help him to bring Dha back . As soon as the Darkness and the White Fire were created, they instantly looked at each other and started to longing each other with all theyr might. But Draut at last didn´t comprehend the sense of the Darkness and casted him away ... but that doesn´t mean that she was longing for him anymore. And vice versa. Well, they love and hate and circle around each other and move away from each other and get closer, but they can not touch each other. And this endless dance keeps the whole existence together.  
Well, but back to the beginning. So, Nun breathed life into the Darkness and White Fire and ordered them to bind Dha and bring her back to him. But Burzum rebelled against him because he wanted Dha to remain free. As he wanted to be free himself. So he took her on his shoulders and, with all his tremendous power, pushed her away from Nun.  
What was further, it is unclear, coz there are a lot of different narratives that are quite different from each other. But in our place we suppose Burzum have gripped Dha in his arms and they made love for so long that Burzum became Dha and Dha Burzum. Like they merged with each other, till that was not really possible to distinguish who is who, because their individual parts awere permeating and blending so thoroughly that it almost looked like one. And it is said that there is nothing whatever came from the mighty Dha that lacks at least a piece of dark matter and nothing what Burzum put his hands on lacks of Dha. And it´s a well documented fact, that the dark matter exist and can be used to our benefit. That´s a gift that´ve been given to us, the dark nation, by the Dark ... well, but later about that.  
And, yeah! And allegedly, during Dha and Burzum did each other, they exchanged all their experience and wisdom, so their mutual bond continues till these days. "  
Uruk concluded, as if his entire narration was not complete without this information  
The elf listened silently and attentively all the time without interrupting or questioning. His story absorbed him so much that for a moment he even forgot about the dull, scratchy pain that´d been trickling through his thigh.  
The silence echoed for a moment.  
"But ... how do you know that all?"  
Legolas utter finally, looking very suspicious.  
"Because!"  
Marghul replied.  
"Burzum told us... But he definitely had some weird sense of humor."  
He added, and scowled disdainfully.  
"He gave everybody their own different version."  
Legolas was silent, trying to straighten it all in his head, but - as it turned out - the ghuls thoughts were already wandering in a completely different direction. ,  
"You, elf!"  
He turned to Legolas.  
"That Naugli ... Naugla ... of yours!"  
"Nauglamir"  
He corrected him without hesitation.  
"Well, the thing we're looking for!"  
The orc waved his hand.  
"How awesome it is! Ornated, perfectly crafted, but it doesn´t do anything useful, nor it´s good for anything. It just hangs down there, does it?"  
The elf was disturbed! That ghastly, ghastly expression on Marghul's face was well known, and he suspected he was not good at anything. And that he was not wrong.  
"The same as your cock!"  
Said Marghul, grinning at him.


	8. The Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince's wound is not healing. What's more, it gets complicated. How will our pilgrims deal with it?

It was short after the noon when they managed to find a narrow streem.  
"Well, great!"  
Marghul rejoiiced and immediately dropped all the baggage.  
"Now we can do something about that damm festered leg of yours."  
The elf was standing helplessly and leaning on his stick. He cleared his throat awkwardly. He had a really bad feeling about that "something", the orc wanted to do with him. The memory of the stories about wounded goblin troops eaten alive by their comrades was all to vivid. Thinking about it, he frankly couldn´t imagine Marghul being capable of such a horrific thing, but he kept reminding himself, that he was dealing with an orc. Which means a cruel and corrupt creature, to whom the Lord of Darkness and Evil hemself put his life in. And that he still remains. And that all that he had experienced over the last few days, all that touches, that stories he had heard of him, and all the other things he had experienced were nothing more than a strange, tricky delusion. Nothing but some spell that can dissipate at any moment, and the cruel, bloodthirsty beast, which he have known from the legends, suddenly emerges from nowhere.  
Marghul, who had no idea about the misgiving tormenting his captive, barked at him to sit down. But not this way! Firstly take off your pants. Well, that's better. Startled Legolas didn´t dare to protest. From nowhere , the image of Marghul, a forceful and indifferent commander, shouting orders at his soldiers, emerged in his mind. But now the mighty warrior was undignified, scuttling around, rummaging through his kitbag, and grumbling angrily.  
"What am I about do with this?What the hell, should I to do with this? if only I have anything useful here and not just this garbage.!"  
He waved his head toward the piles of objects that were chaoticaly scattered around on the bank of the stream.  
"We'll have to open the stitches , I´ll need hot water."  
And he did not stop growling plenty of other things that Legolas didn´t even understand. That's why he kept sitting and quietly watched the orc setting up a fire and filling his leather bladder that he had pulled out of his kitbag, with wather. Then he dug through the stream bed and picked up some of the bulky boulders and put them into the fire.  
"Let's try it this way."  
He whispered and smiled at the elf, who kept watching him vigilantly.  
When he was satisfied with his work, he turned his attention back to Legolas. Who was still quiet and motionless. The orc didn´t hesitate to remove the bandage from his thigh. He even moistened the last layer in order to go better down, and without hesitation he went to investigate the wound.  
"Well ... it looks better than I expected."  
He finally said with obvious relief.  
"But we'll have to do it anyway. Hey, prince!"  
He looked up at the elf.  
"Can you manage to washthe the bandage?"  
"I..."  
Stuttered the perplexed Legolas out but the orc didn´t wait for him to finish the sentence. He sighed deeply and rolled his eyes as to ask the heaven, why is he forced to deal with such a dope. He grabbed the poor elf in his arms and put him at the stream bank.  
"This way, you see?"  
He said as he spreads the dirty bandages along the wet shore and started to thrash them with a stone.  
"Have you ever washed something on your own? What, Your Majesty?"  
Marghul laughed at him, this time substantially more kind. The Prince, however, felt offended by his scornful ostentatious contempt.  
"I'm not such a duffer as you may think."  
He object, but Marghul´ve only smirked at him. After a while he let the elf contend with the laundry alone and began to deal with the fire. He stoke a couple of sticks in, picked up the stones he had put in, and with few pieces of bark he tossed them into the bladder of water. It didn´t take long and it started to whine and bubbling inside.  
"Well, great!"  
Shoutet the orc in thrill. He pulled the wet bandages out from the elf's hand, and stuffed them inside.  
"It´s necessary to scald them!"  
He grinned at Legolas, just to notice his baffled expression. He didn´t bother to explain anything further. When he came to the conclusion that the cleanliness was done enough, he poured the water out and hanged the wet streaks of fabric around over the surrounding bushes.  
"It'll have to be this way!"  
He observer towards the elf.  
"Now let´s get down to work on you!"  
And he squatted down to the sitting Legolas. He grabbed the knife and with a few precise movements he freed the stitches on his leg. The elf was curious, even with some concern. Suddenly he realised that besides the knife he wielded in his left hend, the orc clutched something firmly in his right hand as well. When he looked at it more closely, he found to his surprise that Marghul's hand was full of fine river sand.  
"So elf!"  
He uttered, against his own habits, in a surprisingly serious urgent tone.  
"Now, in the first place, don´t piss yourself with the pain."


	9. The Patient - second part

As it turned out, Marghul believed that the wound on the elf's thigh would require thorough cleansing and rubbing it with river sand would be the best way to achieve it. Not that Legolas had a particularly deep knowledge of healing, however, he remembered clearly that similar methods weren´t used in Gondor healing homes. As the tiny sand crystals touched his naked tissue and began to chafe it ruthlessly, he couldn´t suppress the scream of pain. He abruptly lifted up himsel, his hands inadvertently flew up, and they started to vigorously push the orc away to defend himself against such a ruthless treatment. Marghul, however, did not pay attention to his moans, the protests he used, and even - for an elf - an unusually sharp vocabulary. He simply knelt on Legolases thigh and pinned him to the ground so the prince couldn´t even move. With a perfectly indifferent expression, the beast continued his work, occasionally noting the elves are sissies, and that if his majesty doesn´t want the pus to spill over all his body, he should dutifully hold on and stop bitching.  
Finally, despite all the rigmaroles, the cursed wound was cleaned, washed, closed, and, of course, carefully bandaged to the proper level of orc´s satisfaction. Even before he finally stitched it together, he gently but carefully tucked a thin strip of cloth between the stitches, and to the elf's displeasure he did his best to reach the bottom of the wound with it. When Legolas pointed to it, carefully, not to wake up the beast´s wrath again, the answer was only an irritating grumbling, followed by a lookthat clearly stated: Such a nitwit like you wouldn´t understand it anyway.  
Then the orc grasped him into his arms and without hesitation, moved him to a rug, spreaded near the fire.  
Once again he reached into the backpack and took out a familiar package. Legolas, with a only a glance at that cursed thing, shuddered with resentment. He knew too well that it was hiding a stuff that might be some dried meat, but as well something much worse. Both he and his captor have been feeding on its contents since the very beginning of their journey, but the origin of that mysterious food has never been revealed. The elf never asked. Some things, he thought, are simply better not to know.  
But now Marghul pushed it under his nose and convinced him that he must eat a bit to recover and to make it heal faster, and so on. Legolas, however, lay barely motionless on the rug, his pulse pounding, and a cold sweat glittering on his forehead. He barely looked at the orc. He didn´t even think of food. The orc just sighed with a worry, and he got up from the elf's temporary bed. But he came back again, this time with a wet scarf and the bladder full of water. Legolas felt a cold touch of wet fabric on his face. That was the orc washing his face carefully, and even lifted his head to drink.  
"But do you have to eat?"  
He said at last, glanced at their shrink supplies, and poked his head in thought.  
Then, as if suddenly decided, he rushed to Legolas and shifted him roughly to a side. The e only gasped in surprise.  
"Hey, prince, nothing personal!"  
Explained him the orc apologetically.  
"I just don´t want you not to fool around while I'm away."  
And with these words, he began to tighten the loop around both his wrists with skillful quick movements.  
"What does that mean? Where do you want to go?"  
Legolas started out, all pissed.  
The beast finished his work and straightened himself.  
"Well, what do you think?"  
He grinned  
"I'll jump into the royal pantry and bring you some delicious roasted partridges , fragrant truffles, rippened cheese a bowl of exquisite forest fruit, and a bottle of wine to drink. Anyway! You keep turnig your nose up at the dried kal as if I fed you with dried shit."  
"So," thought Legolas, "no way I´ll put his carcass of his into my mouth ever again."  
And his stomach turned upside down.  
"Wait!"  
He recalled suddenly.  
"What if ..." he whispered embarrassedly, "what if the wargs appear?"  
Marghul suddenly hesitated, and after a moment he spoke with an expression that Legolas didn´t like a bit.  
"You know what, elf? Lets both hope it will not happen!"  
And at one stroke he was gone.  
Legolas lay barely for a moment. His body pulsated with pain, his eyelids was heavy with fatigue.  
They are rough, narrow and they don´t understand the delicate doctrine of forest herbs and healing magic, but that doesn´t mean that their uncouth medicine can´t work.  
He mused.  
And Marghul! Suddenly, the silhouette of the mighty figure of the Uruk appeared in front of his eyes. He thought he had never met anyone who would laugh so often. And yet ... so strangely. Cheekily! Defiantly! Rebelliously! And more ... He didn´tt think he'd ever heard a similar laugh among the Gondor soldiers. He had no idea how to call that weird thing that was emanating from this uruk warrior, but it was burning like the rays of the sun. Perhaps, he finally said to himself, that there was no name for it.  
He turned his head and looked in the direction the orc disappeared. He imagined those firm arms and broad backs as he sinking into deep shrubs. He shrugged his forehead. Marghul was ... a mystery.  
In a moment, his eyes closed, and he fell into a restless sleep full of nightmares.


	10. The prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still no sex. But hold on!

When he woke up again, Marghul was already back. He were busy around the fire and tried to wake the dying flames into life. He didn´ t pay the slightest attention to his elvish captive. Legolas lifted his elbows and looked in orcs direction. He noticed that a bunch of animal corpses were lying near the fire in a sort of strange tangle with sole limbs sticking out of it. When he looked at it more closely, he recognized two hares, few voles, and some other strange animal that he couldn´t even recognize. It dawned on him that this was Marghul's prey.  
He sat for a a while and watched the orc silently. After a moment the beast looked up, and as if he suddenly noticed that his captive was awake he set out to untie his wrists. Obviously he didn´t miss Legolases inquiring look, and winked at the elf with a mischievous grind.  
"We´ve run out of stuffed partridges , your Highness! But this will do!"  
He said swinging his head towards his catch.  
"How´s your leg? Fine?"  
He didn´t wait for Elf's diffident nod, and returned to the fireplace where he started to occupy himself with their future dinner. Legolas stretched his clenched limbs, and to his tremendous relief he found that his injuries were indeed considerably less painful. Somehow that peculiar orc healing system really worked, which was incredibly astonishing. But he had no time to think about it deeper, because Marghul, as it was his habit, began to chatter again.  
"We will cook the lungs and the kidneys The heart will be stiff and the stomach as well. But whatewer! Yeah One liver for you, the other for me. The same with the brains. Actually, I should give you both, when you are the cripple now, but I was the the hunting one. Habitually, I should eat them both myself. But you know what? I'll spare both spinal marrows for you. The meat we´ll bake in the ashes. At least, it will last longer. And for these shrimps," he glanced at the voles," "Who would bother with them? I´ll just shove them in as they are."  
Legolas watched him, skillfully skinning one of the rabbits and listened to his peculiar speech, that´ve made his stomach turning upside down. But the orc´s enthusiasm was somehow oddly contagious, and to his surprise he suddenly felt his suddenly the corner of his mouth twitching in mirth. The realization was as a bolt from the blue. He was struck by the knowledge, that in fact, he should now be sitting in one of the most ostentatious Gondor hall and enjoy some of the local first-rate delicacies. Instead of it, he is lost somewhere in the wasteland and imprisoned by an uruc soldier who generously offers him to give up his raw rabbit spinal marrows, to please him. Could there ever be anything more absurd occuring to him?  
And he began to laugh so sincerely and genuinely, as hi did never before. And if he did, he couldn´t remember it either. It was different at home. At home, he had to act in a dignified manner, to keep the nobility appertaining to his position. How entirely different was it here. Here were only dense bushes and one orc to listen to him here. In a very specific curious way he was free here.  
"What´s up?"  
The sentence suddenly sentence arrived from the fire. When Legolas turned his head, he saw Marghul stared at him, his mouth wide open The obtuse expresion on orcs face made him stop abruptly. He was overhelmed by fear, that Marghul could consider his sudden outburst of gaiety as a shameless mockery. Or an insult! But the probleme was that even he didn´t understand it exactly. He was frantically thinking about what to answer.  
"I ..." he hesitated, "I ... I wanted to ... thank you!"  
It suddenly slipped out of his mouth and he didn´t even know why.  
"I just ... thank you for the spinal marrows..."  
And his stomach turned upside down again, just by saying it. He could not help and laugh again.  
"Well," the orc replied, grinning, still a tiny bit confused, for he still couldn´t quite get his head around what is so funny about the rabbit spinal marrows.  
"Well ... I can just give you a piece of that brain as well."  
Said the orc kindly and approached the elf, who was still squirming on the ground, suffering a fit of laughter.  
"Or all of it!"  
He added!  
"To the hell with it! I'll catch a new rabbit, after all?"  
And he gripped Legolas's arm firmly. The elf stropped for a moment and looked at the orc with a startled surprise.  
"You really ... it will not be necessary."  
He blurted out in an oddly sentimental way. Suddenly he had no idea he is up to to laugh or cry. He moved inadvertently a little bit closer to the confused Marghul  
"Afar Vadokanuk!"  
The orc said and put his palm on the elf´s h forehead.  
"You O.K.? Aren´t you still suffering of concussion?"  
"That would explain it ."  
Replied the laughing Legolas. It occurred to him that he had not felt so relaxed for a long time.  
The beast sighed sadly, waving his hand and returning ro the fire to prepare the dinner.


	11. The Nice Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a very strange dessert after the dinner

Eventually Legolas had to admit that the raw liver and the slightly fried brain were not as bad as he expected. Just to suck the marrow out from the spinal cord turned out to be - to Marghul´s considerable amusement - a bit of a problem. Moreover the uruk threw few herbs into the broth left after the preparation¨of the rabbit offal so they got admittedly not a very delicious but certainly edible rabbit soup. When the dinner was over, the elf gained a gratifying feeling of full stomach he didn´t experience for a couple of days. Therefore he tried to persuade himself really strenuously, that it actually doesn´t matter what he had really consumed.

Marghul sat down to the fire and stayed there during all the meal. He remained abnormally quiet and absorbed in thought for a long time. Legolas, to his surprise, noticed that he was cutting small pieces of meat and throwing it into the fire. What's more, he was muttering something softly and unintelligibly for himself. He took a deep breath and dared himself to ask, what does it mean. But the ghostly absent-minded expression of the beast drove him away, and the strange rumbling coming out of his throat almost terrified him. He reminded himself again that he was struggling with a ferocious creature arised from the contempt of the Eru's miracle of creation and mockery of his work. And , it's better not to have anything in common with this strange black magic at all. He carefully moved even more away from the fireside and minded his own business. Just here and there, when he could not, he looked cautiously and cautiously toward the fire.  
When they´d finished the food, Marghul pulled a stiff broad leaf with a bulbous cone at its end out from his pocket , and reached out for him.  
"Here you are!"  
He said.  
"Chew this! But as I´ve said, chew!"  
He added sharply.  
"Don´t you dare to swallow it."  
When he noticed Legolases baffled face, he started explaining: "You´ll still have a hole in your thigh, but it won´t matter that much to you."  
The orc remarked in an ambiguous manner, grinning mischievously at the elf. He decided, he should better not to ask any further questions and obediently stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. It tasted horribly bitter, but he followed the order as it was given and kept chewing.  
There was silence for some time. Legolas suddenly remembered the peculiar story Marghul told him in the morning, and suddenly it stroked him that he might try to hold forth about his own myth. The ancient myth about the creation of Arda he knew himself and was listening to as a child so often. He braced himself up and then he started.  
The orc listened surprisingly closely, and when Legolas stopped, waiting tensely for his verdict, he brashly burst out in laughter.  
"Elfie, I haven´t heard a bigger bullshit all my life. You say, the music of ainur!? The world as we know it was created by some kind of whimpering!"  
He sputtered laughing and catching his breath.  
Legolas made an offended face. After all, the music of ainur was the most sublime and noblest sound of everything that ever resonated through Arda. Had it not been for the disharmony that Morgoth Bauglir had brought to it by his defiance.  
"Yeah and that ... Morgoth of yours!"  
Said the orc as if he reads his mind.  
"According to you, he started just like that, just for nothing to sing something other than the rest of the ainur, but not a word about why the damn he did, what he did?"  
And he looked at the elf defiantly and a little bit mockingly in the same time. Legolas paused! Suddenly he had no idea. None of the legends he knew, haven´t mentioned it, and he himself had never even thought of asking. Suddenly he didn´t understand why! He realized that, like it or not, he couldn´t give the orc a proper answer. But alongside it, he had a feeling that he had to defend his version of the world's origins against this creature. Unfortunately, he hadn't the faintest idea, how.  
"Well ..." he stammered, "because he was rebellious and refractory and ... obstinate ... and ..."  
"Well, I know, elf, that he was rotten down to his core."  
Marghul interrupted him in such a manner that have left no doubt that he, in fact, considered the Bauhglir to actually be a pretty cool guy.  
"I mean, why precisely had he done this one particular thing?"  
And he looked at Legolas again, but this time in more questioning way. But he had no other way, but to stay silent.  
"Another thing!"  
The orc continued after a while, when he realized any answer wouldn´t be given.  
"How could something arise just from singing? From singing, by the Darkness, have you ever sang? And did you get anything out of it? Moreover, that... ainur of yours, they haven´t created anything by themselves. The world was created by the ... Eru, so why did he let them sing in the first place, when he eventually didn´t need them? "  
The elf was happy finally hearing something, he knew the right answer for.  
"But that was the music of ainur!"  
He exclaimed aggrievedly.  
"The music, revealed form of which is the world itself. Created by the spirits of Ainur under the direction of the One, the Father of all!  
He was about to say some more things, equally indignant, but the uruk suddenly interrupted him.  
"The One, you say, The one? What one?"  
The expression of amused indifference was suddenly gone, and whole his figure was abruptly radiant with a tense expectation.  
"Well ..."  
Legolas peeped in surprise, his forehead wrinkled.  
"Eru, that's in quenja..Precisely... I mean in Quenya Elves language."  
He explained.  
"Into the common tongue it´s translated as the One."  
"That´s... weird. "  
The orc uttered and hesitated for a moment, as if he were looking for a suitable words. Without his usual sassines, he looked almost unfamiliar.  
"Among the orc it's also said that before Dha took the first breath, everything was One. Like in one singularity. it's called Ashu, and it was supposed to be the unity of everything, it didn´t move, but it was filled with tension and unease inside. But that creature no longer exist. It perished whith the Dha´s first breath. It was meant as the unity of Nun and Dha. "  
For a moment, he set his eyes thoughtfully into the distance, but then it flashed again with a mirth.  
"Hey, princeling, maybe your story is not such a bullshit, maybe your people just´d messed it up."  
And with these words, he pated Legolas on his backs and made the poor elf swayed all over. It occured to him, he should somehow objected to the latest impudence of the orc, but suddenly he felt as his head was splitting in the half strangely. He was like dizzy! Besides this, what was especially strange, he couldn´t remember what he wanted to say. He took a few deep breaths, hoping that the odd state of his would disappear, but instead it grew stronger. He´d wanted something. He reassured himself. He had something on on the tip of his tongue just a moment ago.  
"Music ainur"!  
He whispered.  
"It was not perfect!" Morgoth caused a ... dysharmonia, but the second would come soon. After his death. And it will be ... perfect"  
"Tss....!"  
He heard it as from somewhere far away as Marghul snorted scornfully.  
"Perfection! You, elves are like obsessed with it.. I say to you, elfie, what is perfect. Death is perfect! Because when you are all dead, it is perfectly certain that you wont come back to life ever again ."  
He didn´tt stop with his lamentations.  
"That disharmony, as you call it, have gave birth to everything you see around, coz without that Dha would come back to Nun,. And so it is with life. It's wild, chaotic and full of mistakes. And it keeps dancing around in the same chaotic way, as it had danced during the first breath of hers. It´s impossible to plan it or to tie it down, and with every mistake, with every disaster, somewhere on the other side, something new, amazing is born.  
Listen! "  
Marghul walked into a feverish whisper.  
"It's not my imagination. You see, I´ve seen it! In the Orthanc! Sharku, the white, have you heard about him? It had been niggling at the back of his mind, so he´d summoned the elderly. All the experienced witched, and they´ve helped him with building such a model. Like a model of the world, you know? I´ve seen it. MOving! Dancing... "  
He wanted to add something, but then he´ve noticed the elf's absent and somehow awestruck expression, and he hesitated.  
"I see," he said amusedly, "that Raghaz is starting to have its effect. You can already spit it out, elf."  
Instead of answering, Legolas smiled happily. Everything suddenly seemed pink and cheerful. There was a buzzing sound resonating in his ears and he felt pleasantly sleepy. He did not understand why Marghul suddenly became so worried about it.  
"I guess I shouldn´t have given you that much."  
He didn´t stop frowning at him.  
"Indeed, you are not used to it."  
"It's ... I'm fine ..."  
Uttered Legolasin high spirits, but was not quite sure whether all the words were coming out of his mouth exactly in the right order.  
"O.K., Your Majesty!"  
Marghul poked his head.  
"It´s time to turn in"


	12. The very first kiss of Legolas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dinner Legolas will taste a very special plant. What it will do to him?

With that words, he grabbed the elf in his arms, and, through his faint protests, he caried him to the rug. When he laid him down and carefully covered him with the blanket. Than he was about to leave. Legolases hand suddenly leaped and grabbed the orcs wrist.  
"Wait!"  
Marghul turned back to him without objection and waited for what was going to happen. The elf, however, stopped! He didn´t know what he wanted and had no plans. He had no idea why he wanted the uruk to stay, but he was sure he wanted it. So he was patiently staring at him and remained in helpless silence. Stunned, as if he´ve seen him for the very first time, he studied his wide cheeks, flat nose and his full fleshy lips. Then his gaze slid down on orc´s muscular arm and wrist, which was still firmly clutching. Suddenly, a distant memory emerged from his troubled mind. The memory of the heat and restlessness that took him when this hand touched him in such a shameless and stupid manner. The memory was so distant and obscured that it felt like it had happened a year ago. Legolas was convinced that it had to happen sooner, quite recently indeed, but he decided not to take it into account. He vaguely remembered he wanted something. He was interested in something. And that something was just as depraved and immodest as the orcs act itself, perhaps even more. And he was sure that he would never dare to ask any elf about something like that. Even he himself would be hiding the question even from himself. What, by the Utumno, was it?  
Marghul kept waiting humbly and patiently for whatever the elf would may want. But when he didn´t start anything, the orc gathered himself again to return to the fire. The elf, this time more tightly gripped his wrist again.  
"Are you ... are you married?"  
He blurted out the first acceptable thing that crossed his mind.  
"What?"  
Marghul wondered.  
"I see," he nodded presently.  
"It's clear, next time you´ll get only a half of the leaf."  
"So are you?"  
The elf insisted. No, this wasn´t exactly, what bothered him about Marghul, but it was a good start.  
"Oh, yeh. I used to!"  
Grunted the orc, as if marriage was the most annoying and nasty thing under the sun.  
"Are you ... a widowed?"  
The elf paused and slightly faltered.  
"Eeew, no!"  
Margul smiled faintly over the Elf's naivety.  
"She kicked me out"  
He stated laconically.  
"What?"  
Legolas blurted out in shock.  
"How could she ... What do you mean, what does it even mean?"  
His intoxicated brain couldn´t properly dawnt on, what the uruk is, for Elbereth´s sake, babbling about.  
"Well, yeh! You know, what. Just business as usual."  
He smiled grimly.  
"She was a prude quarrelsome bitch."  
Legolas stared incredulously at the orc. He could not understand how it was possible for someone to talk about his wifein this way. At least in the Darkwood, he'd never heard anything that brash.  
"Once! Only once I´ve slept with her sister and it was the end of the marriage."  
He kept on talking, and Legolas suddenly didn´t know, by what should he be more disgusted. Whether by breakdown of Marghul's marriage, the way it happened, or by him speaking of it so openly and without the slightest shame. But eventually, he was most shocked by the fact that he was not shocked at all... All of tese prickles of Marghul, suddenly seemed to him like a magnificent fun, and he began to giggle.  
"Yeah!"  
Marghul sighed sorrowfully.  
"And what about she, chasing me naked aroun the whole village. What a craic for everybody who were currently at home."  
Legolas was lying on the rug and couldn´t stop giggling without knowing exactly what he was actually laughing at. His thoughts dawdled dizzily and ponderously, as the clouds drifting through the sky in a hot summer afternoon. But somehow he managed to pick up the loose threads of his thoughts. Suddenly he remembered, what he wanted to know. He gnawed away at that question all the day, and it embedded itself under his skin like thousands of tiny needles. And likewise needles, it stung and hurt, and he forced himself to forget it only with all his willpower. But now suddenly it was here again and this time with no pain It fluttered around him with ease of a butterfly. It tickled his tongue and insisted to be shouted out as loudly as possible. He knew he shouldn´t, but ... but  
But ... I can ask him, run through his had. It doesn´t matter. He's just an orc. He took a breath and ...

"Have you ever been with a man?"

He bursted out as fast as possible, and hurriedly paused, shocked by his own boldness. From that moment he lapped up every word Marghul said.  
"Wel, yeh! Sure, I have"  
He replied, absolutely casually, as if it was nothing extraordinary.  
So he have! Of course, he have. Legolas did´t even dare to breathe. He gave the orc a faint smile. That revelation awakened something in him. A strange feeling he could not decide whether it was pleasant or not. Suddenly his heart was pounding in a fierce rhythm. Now he saw Marghul in a completely different light. Somewhere deeply at the very foundations of his mind there was a warning sign: Hands off! Hands off, away from these orkish perversities. But the rational part of his brain, that which was usually strictly alert and was constantly on look out for not to geting himself into trouble, was now too distant and tired to pay attention to the warnings. This enticing mysterious forbidden little orkish something was much closer and he wanted to know everything about it. Suddenly, however, he found that he was critically lacking knowledge in this area, and that he had no idea how and what to ask.  
"How ... you ... you had ... you ..."  
He stuttered, feeling the blood flowing in his cheeks.  
"You mean, ghumtug! Dont´you?"  
Continued Marghul, totally uninterested. But the elf, as he heard the strange new word, frowned his forehead. For a moment he even thought he must have misheard.  
"Oh, you, elves don´t know it, do you?"  
Marghul took the hint.  
"It is ... it can not be translated into general speech."  
He began to explain.  
"Just ... when you go hunting or to the battlefield, then you have someone, someone close, it's so much better, than be alone. It's called ghumtug."  
"Oh, and you ...?"  
Legolas encouraged him.  
"I used to have one!"  
The orc replied.  
As soon as the elf heard him, he remembered the infamous end of Marghul's marriage, and he shivered a little.  
"He dumped you ..."  
"Not exactly!"  
Margul replied sharply and stared away. Out of the blue a shadow of grief appeared in his eyes. And for some reason elf didn´t like it at all. He´d love this eyes to be merry. So incredibly presumptuous and mischievous. Bold and full of mirth! And that he wants these eyes to look into his own. His breath came out narrower. And the notion that Margul's thoughts are now wandering somewhere far away from him, by a mysterious unknown ghumtug, a creature without a face, and without a name, but anyway so important, that he can take away the attention of the orc from him, even though he is not here, was upsetting him.  
"Marghul!"  
He whispered tremulously and pulled the orc out of his broodiness. Marghul looked at him again, somehow overwhelmed by the sudden change in Elf's behavior. Legolas ignored it.  
Ghumtug! It dashed through his head and his heart pounded as if rang the alarm bell. His cheeks burned, till he felt as if his whole body was on fire. So Marghul´ve touched another man's body. Orcs do this! It's normal for them!  
Suddenly, cumbersome and strenuous, he realized, he should be scandalised. But he didn´t remember why should he be.  
So Marghul's body touched another man. He kept speculating. How it went? How it was? He couldn´t get it out of his head, so he tried to put one hand on the orc´s exposed shoulder. His skin was surprisingly hot and soft, and the elf's palm began to spontaneously, gently and gingerly circling, nearly ignorant of its owner. Legolas held his breath back. He realized, it was the first time he'd ever been close to someone, and he liked it. He felt peculiar heat rushing through the whole of his body. He didn´t know what it meant, but he knew, it had to do something with Marghul's irresistibly hot, hot skin. And he knew, he wanted to have more. He pressed his back to Marghul´s back and with his free hand he grabed orc´s other shoulder.  
"Hey, Elfie! What does this mean, what are you doing?"  
There was a distant soud of surprised but jovial Marghul´s voice from somewhere far away and the elf had a vague idea that it was somehow related to him. But he didn´t understand how. It occurred to him that he should answer somehow, but all his attention was just occupied by something else. He looked up at uruk´s neck and whispered, fascinated:  
"Your skin!"  
"Hm ...!"  
Stunned Marghul replied him.  
"It's so ... dark!"  
He breathed out and all of a sudden his lips were pressed against the curve between uruk´s neck and his shoulder. A muffled moan escaped his throat, and his disobedient mouth set out for a journey of its own from the shoulder to the nape, neck and back to the shoulder and placed a kiss to every spot they could reach.  
He´ve heard Marghul's breath accelerating, he´ve heard his muffled laughter.  
"Elf, what's happening with you?"  
Marghul's wide face emerged before his desirous eyes, and the bewitched elf couldn´t concentrate on anything but how much he wanted it. He raised his arms and grasped it tightly in his hands. His head leaned forward and his lips merged with the orc´s.


	13. The virginity rescued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luckily, the prince of the Mirkwood extricates himself from the dangerous situation with his virginity intact.

Only the first morning rays, tickling him on his face to inform him that the new day had arrived, brought the poor Prince back to consciousness. But he refused to acknowledge it anyway. He pressed his eyelids more firmly together, trying to bury himself deeper into the blanket he was covered with. All night long, he had been constantly haunted by strange, restless dreams and prosecuted by nightmares. And now, there was a splitting headache in his tortured head and surges of pain rushed through his whole body. Nothing craved he more, than to fall back in sleep. 

Then, the sturdy chest he rammed into in his effort to make himself more comfortable, and the arm casually slung over his shoulder, returned him to the reality. It was as if someone in his still slightly bit blunted mind had recounted a long-known story.

A reflection of the last night began to unfold.

The extraordinary herb that Marghul gave him to chew! And the strange burning heat that suddenly took hold of his body and mind, when he did as his possessor commanded him. It seemed, as if that peculiar feelings were coming straight out of him. And caused, that the things that seemed inappropriate in his wakeful state, suddenly looked tempting and desirable. If he'd wanted to be completely honest with himself, he must've admit, that the feeling he had experienced this night, was not so new or so unknown, but it was like ... as if he felt up to compare the flame of a candle to a wild forest fire. The first one can be extinguished by a single hand motion, whenever it threaten to get out of control. But the other one ... The other one is wild omnipotent and unimaginably mighty. And you have no choice but to let it take you, devour and burn you to ashes in a single explosion of unbridled passion.

The elf shuddered in dismay. No, he should not think that way! Formerly he wasn't like that! Formerly he knew, which paths to lead his thoughts by, to safely reach the desired goal. And on the contrary,which one to avoid anxiously, like the treacherous cliffs hidden beneath the water surface.

 

But all of this is his fault. It's a fault of that damn uruk and his crooked sorcery, mumbled the elf to himself.

This is what made him to throw away all the barriers, to forget about his good manners, and to do all of this ...

He shifted cautiously to knock Marghul's heavy arm off.

His mind was running through the memory of the ornate skin, so hot under his hands, the surprisingly soft lips so passionately possessing his own and the rough coarse mitts, clutching almost shyly his narrow hips. Of the weakness of his own kneels, ready to buckle under the weight of the strangers body, of his arms swirled over the orc, like a fine ivy over a wrinkled rough oak bark.

Then, like the lightning from the pure sky, there came a crude humiliation. 

Marghul's hands, instead of clinging to him, as he expected, suddenly grabbed him and without a warning, slammed him violently to the ground with such a force, that the surprised elf moaned in pain. There he remained, motionless as he landed. He only cowered in fear and goggled in the direction of the orc. He watched his chest rise sharply up and down, his teeth writhing angrily in his mouth, and his eyes burning, bleary and strangely, reluctantly turning away as if afraid of a direct gaze.

"Stop it!"

The orc snapped, when he finally dared to look in the face of his prisoner.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, but it won't work!"

He added, even more infuriated, and leaned over the confused Legolas. His eyes were still so odd, and the elf could not break away from them, as though he was enchanted by them.

But it didn't take long, before the uruk turned away again and grabbed the rope lying nearby. The buzzing in the elf's head grew thicker, and he slowly started to feel as he was losing control over his body. Suddenly he felt like a rag doll. He didn't resist when the orc tied up his wrists little to cruelly and more tightly than usual. During it he was still very diligently avoiding elf's inquired startled glances. Eventually he pushed him ruthlessly sideways to make a place for himself at the rug that was always too narrow for two. The uruk made himself ostentatiously comfortable, and didn't care about the silent, barely audible protests of the poor prisoner, who had to gather all his strength to keep himself conscious.

But it didn't take long before the pressure under Legolases eyelids have became so much intense, that just keeping the eyes open became painful. The exuberance and bliss of the beginning of the evening was long gone and slowly the sense of disappointment and humiliation was sweeping away as well. There was only a tremendous immeasurable dullness left, and he had no choice but to surrender to it unconditionally. Finally, he didn't even know how he fell asleep.

 

Now he crouched at the edge of the rug so he was as far away from his prisoner as he could, and had no idea what burned him more. Whether the first merciless rays of the rising sun, or the tremendous sense of shame that began to devour him almost immediately after he had fully recollected the events of the previous evening.


	14. The virginity rescued - sequel

Legolas squirmed again, but he didn't manage to shake the orc's arm away. The sheer notion it was him who ... that this very hand, that had flung him so mercilessly to the ground yesterday, had also saved his purity and that he should be grateful for it ... The notion made his gorge rise.  
This is not him! He is not that immodest and dirty, he tried to convince himself in an anxious attempt.   
That was all Marghul's fault! That bastard is a lecher! He deliberately bewitched him to ridicule him. Sure! That's what happened! Was it not him who captured him and dragged him here into this wasteland? And he had almost let himself to be fooled by his sordid tricks. How could he be so foolish ?! But it's over now!  
He tried to break out of the orc's embrace again and groaned out in pain. His wrists were tied up too tight, and - whole blody and raw - slowly began to swell up.  
In a moment, he mused, he will have no choice but to awake Marghul and demand a release.  
In that very moment, the orc, who was sprawled out by the Legolas's right side, shuddered, grunted, and as if roused by elf's subconscious complaints, he began to crawl out of their liar. But it didn't seem he had the elf's comfort in his mind. In fact, he pushed him away so fast, as if he was some kind of annoying burden impeding in the way, and without merely looking at him, he headed for the stream to perform the morning hygiene.  
Legolas was highly outraged by such behaviour.  
"Hey you!"  
He bellowed at the orc without looking at him and tried to do his best to make it sound as haughty as possible. He decided once for all to show this rotten beast who's the noble here.  
"Hey! So what? Do you hear me?"  
He reiterated, this time a little more firmly, when it seemed that his attempt to straighten things out didn't have the effect he hoped for.  
"Come on, untie me!"  
And he accompanied his words with sort of superfluous lifting of his tied wrists up. Marghul, however, didn't even bother to raise his eyes or draw his hands out of the water. He simply did nothing to indicate that he at least has noticed elf's demands.  
"Have a name!"  
He snarled instead grumpily, swashing the water on his face with his palms. Legolas concluded that to beg for release, would be beneath his dignity, while suffering in silence is worthy of the noble prince in captivity. Besides, Marghul will soon want to set out for a journey again and untie his wrists anyway, so what!? He can take the few moments yet.  
Except for the fact that the uruk didn't exert any special effort in packing or setting out. On the contrary, it seemed that he had decided that the sharp and surprisingly hot rays of sunshine, along with the cool fresh pond water, were the perfect opportunity for a bath and, without further delay, he threw his waistcoat and trousers down. The elf swiftly bent his head down to the ground.  
He is so shameless. How is he so shameless? He whispered frantically to himself.  
As if that yesterday fiasco wasn't enough! This ribald keeps provoking him insolently.  
And from time to time he took a peep at Marghul, delightfully spread out in the middle of the stream, tha was too shallow to keep Marghul's body properly covered. As if having their own will, elf's eyes seemed to be irresistibly lurked by that sight.  
I'm probably still under the influence of black magic, their owner mused, and then fixed his eyes on the ground even more resolutely.  
Marghul climbed out of the water, dressed and got himself busy with the packing without giving Legolas a single glance. So the elf made another attempt to draw his towards himself again. He waved his tied hands and demanded to be released. He made very lofty faces during it, perhaps to compensate the fact, that despite his best resolution, he is just a little bit begging after all. The orc muttered something irritated, and then, after a moment of hesitation, he complied with the elf's request. Even though he steadily avoided the direct sight.  
"Get up!"  
He growled angrily when everything was fixed to his satisfaction, and the loop on the elf's neck was seated properly.  
"We'll get out, and this time no tricks, do you understand?"  
"What?"  
Legolas did not understand a word.  
"Yesterday, you fawned upon me as a kind of a cheap whore, don't do that anymore!"  
Gritted Marghul through his teeth and persistently refused to look directly into the elves eyes. Legolas couldn't believe what he heard. In his mind the image of the previous evening had risen again, and suddenly he could feel his stomach clenching in an abrupt surge of sharp intense shame.  
But at the same time, anger began to sprout in him as well, and he immediately began to nurture it, perhaps to drown the first feeling out. It was a very easy task!  
How had the animal called him? He thought! After everything what he'd done to him, he still has the gall to call him names...  
The rage suddenly swelled up like a giant torrential wave, and dashed out to sweep away everything that stood in its way. Caution, anxiety, and circumspection.  
"What? How dare you ... you beast!?"  
He roared at the orc, irrespective of his own prisoner status.  
"You yourself enchanted me with that herb of yours. You yourself made me ..."  
All of a sudden he paused. He didn't want to remind himself of what he'd done yesterday, and which part of it was magic and which his own will.  
You've tried to force into that orkish perversions of yours and then laugh at me."  
He shrieked fitfully.  
"But it won't work for you, I'm not like you, I'm not a crippled beast like you, I'm a gray elf of Mirkwood, King Thranduil's son! You won't defile me.  
Uruk stared incredulously at his angry face for a while, but immediately he started to shout himself. His fury was not any worse than the elf's one.  
"What do you think of yourself, you bloated zero? Do you believe, there is someone curious about you? That I'm all head over heels for you? Ready to teach this little horny spoiled princeling how to fuck? So if you do, you are terribly wrong. I'm not as craped out of you as they are down there in that Mirkhole of yours. I'm not, do you hear me? You've tried to creep into my flavour, haven't you? But it won't work!"  
And then he jerked the end of the rope so violently, that the loop on the Elf's neck tightened its grip, and he collapsed on the ground, his hands inadvertently rocketed upwards to his torn throat, and tried to release the throttling grip of the rope. But he quickly jumped back to his feet, not caring about the pain or the weakness caused by the lack of air in his lungs. He took a wide stance, as if he wanted to swoop upon the orc, jus to preserve the last remnants of dignity. His heart pounded violently, his eyes racing.  
"You're lying!"  
He cried!  
"You enchanted me or whatever you have done!"  
And he firmly clenched both his hands in fists.  
"You made me do all that ... that ..."  
Suddenly he paused. His face once again began to take up a bright crimson shade, his stomach knotted as if butterflies swarming there. It occurred to him that he've just awoken something that he only a few moments ago had successfully lulled to sleep.  
"Well, what do you mean? Say it all elfie?"  
Marghul grinned.  
That I ... longed for something mysterious, wild and desirable. After something I never should've desired.  
Flew through Legolas's head so suddenly and violently that he could barely realize it. His shoulders dropped, his palms loosened. Anger began to fade away. He felt as if he had been dragged through a stream of ice water.  
"You acted like a lecherous bitch!"  
Sputtered the orc, who obviously had no patience to wait for elf's answer.  
This was surprisingly accompanied with the brief but more intense wave of gratitude. Yes, that was exactly what he needed right now to get angry again. He will not let the repugnant creature to humiliate him any more.  
"I was under the influence of your damn spell."  
He repeated, though less confidently.  
"Plus..."  
He was thinking feverishly. What else could he throw to the face of this damned creature to prove his own innocence?   
"It was you who'd provoked me so shamelessly down there under that rock ..."  
The elf burst out. Marghul just stood silent for a moment, looking surprised. Then he dropped his eyes aside as if he did not know where to put them. His gaze slid down on the Elf's rod, tossed in some shadows nearby. He reached for it and shoved it into elf's hands. Then he grabbed his pack and slid it over his shoulder.  
"It didn't mean anything, do you understand?"  
He swung toward the elf, and again, he steadily avoided his eyes. Legolas would have sworn that he heard something like embarrassment from the orc's voice.  
"Just look at yourself, how white are you, like something that has just crawled out from beneath the stone. Who would desire you? Such a Lul gijak! I wouldn't touch you even with a stick."  
He squeezed the end of the rope on which he had the tied up Legolas and pulled the poor elf away. Too fast for the elf to keep up with him as if they were two criminals fleeing from the crime scene.  
"Nobody fuck elves!" Nobody, not even the biggest desperate, why should I?  
He muttered to himself rather than to his prisoner, only occasionally glaring at him.


	15. The rage

"Nobody fucks elves!" Nobody, not even the greatest desperates, why should I?

Murmured Marghul to himself rather than to his prisoner, while giving him sidelong glances.

Legolas silently stumbled behind him. He tried to calm his heard beating wild with deep breaths.

In vain and a bit surprised, he tried to recall the last time, he'd flared up like this. It was as if he'd changed nto a completely different person. As if this man, this Marghul, have awakened the worst part of him.

And no wonder, he thought. What else would awake in him a creature so inferior ? With resignation he hobbled forwards and here and there he stole a glance at the orc, while he also struggled to chase away all the memories of the past evening events stirring up his mind while he was looking at at the huge, wide back of his captor.

But at the same time, a special startling consciousness began to grow in him. No, resounded his inner voice louder and louder. This orc is definitely not what they taught him he would be. He is not cruel, fierce, or merciless. Perhaps wild, unruly and repugnant. But he doesn't have any of those repulsive qualities that are supposed to characterise the whole of his kind.

Maybe, the Prince considered, Marghul's an exception. After all, it used to be said that orcs are the descendants of the elves. Perhaps somewhere deep in him, his ancient elvish heritage is showing up. But if it's that, then Legolas've never known anybody of his own kind, so passionate. So unrestrained!

Suddenly, as if woken up from a dream, he reminded himself the trouble with the magic herb, and immediately realized that he should be outraged and disgusted with the uruk's brutality and indecency, and indeed, he felt something like an outrage. In fact, not exactly that, but something quite similar. He couldn't precisely name that feeling, but it definitely wasn't disappointment! He was not disappointed! He was simply indignant by Marghul's insults, that's all. And about that all, how the boor spouted at him, that he was too ugly for him ... It was just... he'd heard something like that for the very first time. Legolas was too aware of the admirable looks his elven brothers had been giving him, and many of the second born as well, after he' d begun to live among them. Looks, that were stuck to fine features of his face, his golden hair, and the symmetrical figure. 

There was no sinful sensuality at them, he was perfectly sure. They were there just paying tribute to his noble grace ... And that some of them made him shiver and filled him with pride... Well, that was understandable. After all, even the most prominent hero has the right to be a little bit vain. Because it was a vanity, not a desire when Gimli ... No!

The hideous creature simply doesn't have the slightest sense of noble beauty, he concluded.

And if he thinks Legolas is not good enough for him ... even better! Yes, exactly! He is really happy about it! He'd just like to know why ... After all, the elves were always and everywhere considered to be the most gentle and beautiful race, and there was no one in the Middle-earth who would ever dare to question it. Except for...

"Hey, Marghul!" He mumbled. "Why ... why, did you say ... nobody wants elves ... not even the most desperate ones ... ?"

The uruk turned and gave him a distant look.

"Besides them being pretty nasty, he?"

He cringed his nose in disgust.

"They don't have a trace of sex-drive. They are totally cold, motionless, lie there like a plank... It's indeed better to fuck a knot hole."

And he waved his hand, as if to demonstrate, how vain effort it was, to try to turn on an elf.

"Sometimes they even die during the ride."

He added after a moment with a malicious grin.

"Not that you would know any difference."

That was the sentence that had woke Legoas from lethargy.

What?? What've Marghul just said, he thought! Does it mean, that Marghul himself ....

"You're... You did it? It happened to you? This thing... you..."

Stuttered Legolas out, not even capable to say it all. Shortly after that the uruk froze too as if figured out, he've revealed more, than he wanted to. Swiftly he trurned around. Legolas didn't even believe his eyes. Was Marghul terrified? Did he turn pale?Can the orcs become pale? If so, it happened right now.

"I didn't do anything wrong to her. I barely touched her! " He snarled. "I just wanted ... It was not my fault! It wasn't! Only the Darkness knows what was wrong with that bitch ... If you ever peep about it somewhere... ! Anywhere! "

But Legolas didn't find out what fate would have expected him, if he was foolish enough to mention Marghul's misdemeanour to anybody. Uruk paused! Instead of explaining anything, he stubbornly lowered his head and dragged the elf away much more quickly than the poor captive was able to proceed.

Maybe hoping that you can flee the bad conscience if you are quick enough.

Legolas followed him, after all he had no other choice, but still he couldn't recover from the shock. There were about a thousand thoughts in his mind, but none of them was reasonable. All he could do was to admit he didn't have the slightest clue how to deal with this affair. Sure, he thought, Marghul was a soldier, and it would be fatuous to believe he had never killed anyone, but his heart was shaking over the poor woman's fate.

 

They marched in utter silence, interrupted only here and there by a cracking of twig under their feet. After midday they stopped and Marghul exchanged elf's bandages. Except for the few sentences they swapped over the map, a heavy, suffocating silence fell again. There seemed to be a cold ice where was the fire yesterday.   
Towards evening, the uruk stopped several times, staring uneasily around and drew deep breaths into his nostrils. Legolas didn't ask why.

Eventually, in a small recess surrounded by bushes, they set up a camp.   
They had something left out of yesterday's supplies, and the uruk set the fire to heat it. He performed the same strange ritual with meat cuts he'd done yesterday. Perhaps it was just the elf's impression, but today he was even wilder during it. His eyes wider, the expression more absent.

When he finally lay down besides him, he gripped Legolas's wrist with one hand. He had always done this, and Legolas understood that he wanted to be sure that he would be lying calmly and wouldn't try anything unreasonable during the night.

This time, however, something changed. This time, the orc did his best to leave a tiny gap between his and elf's body and struggled nearly anxiously to keep it like that. He didn't cling to his captive, as he had done before, nor did he leaned over him to smell his scent.

And Legolas couldn't decide whether he liked it or not.


	16. Blod

Even the new morning didn't bring any warmth between them. As well as yesterday, the two were marching side by side in a perplexed silence. Or rather Marghul marched, and Legolas struggled in vain to keep his pace, what Marghul acknowledged with a considerable displeasure. 

During the day they encountered another stream, and Marghul managed to get some trout from under the stones, which they roasted on the fire. Legolas finally noticed that his companion became more and more uneasy. Here he was turning against the wind, sniffing, catching the scent, there bending down to the ground, studying the footprints left there by the wild steppe animals. For some time he seemed be struggling to catch some unknown distant sounds blowing in the balmy spring wind.   
Even Legolas himself turned his head to listen to its silent, yet sinister shuffle. But to his regret, he had to admit, his recognition skills, yet his sensitive elf hearing was not very useful here. In the deep forests of the northwest, he could distinguish every beep of a bird, or even a leaf falling from the tree, but now he was located at a creepy unfamiliar plain, where he was a stranger.

Several times he tried to approach Marghul, who was nervously sniffing around, but was unsuccessful. The orc always rejected him with a hoarse snarl, as if a noble prince of Mirkwood wasn't more but an annoying insect. Insect that should, for the good of the whole orckind, be extincted. The elf finally ceased trying.

By the evening they arrived to a shallow pool full of cool, clear water and Marghul got down to a crayfish hunting and was pretty much succesful.

Legolas sincerely offered his help, but the orc made him shut up in a very rude way, so he took a hasty withdrawal and got himself busy with thinking of the injustice of life. Again, as many time that day, he reminded himself, that Marghul was a brute and ill-mannered boor. He sat down on the rug that was lying nearby, nibbled at his dinner, watching him angrily. Meanwhile his eyes were wandering unruly up and down Marghul's body, as if they couldn't break away. Marghul was well-shaped, he had to admit it. And the unusual dark shade of his skin...

An indisputable sign of his inferiority, Legolas recalled himself quickly. 

To reassure himself, he repeated this notion again and in his mind called Marghul scoundrel once more. He reminded himself, how badly he was insulted that morning after they ... In his head, suddenly a strange, an unwelcome intruder revealed the memory of the hot orkish lips pressed against his own, a tongue waving its way into his mouth, of that harsh palms clasping his hips. And a thousand of butterflies once again started dancing down in his stomach. 

Enough! He snapped at himself. Simply after the brute insulted him yesterday morning.   
On the other side, he kept musing, it is true that even he said a few unfortunate things, but that was utterly different. He does not deserve to be overlooked for that! Maybe if he'd apologize to Marghul, of course purely formally. Only to settle the situation ....

The orc slowly and almost broodyly rose from the fire to tie Legolas's wrist. He didn't even look at him and the elf stood silent. Then, slowly and deliberately, he returned to the fire. 

The elf kept staring at him. He noticed that the orc pulled out a leaf with the bulbous cone from one of his pockets. The same that was given to him last night. He got alerted. That looked pretty shady. 

Marghul grabbed the herb and without hesitation he pushed it all into his mouth. 

Nothing happened for a while. His incarcerator was just sitting there, motionless and with a strangely absent expression he stared at the flickering flames until the last sun rays disappeared from the sky, and the took control of the evening sky.

Legolas was almost falling asleep when he heard a gentle, barely audible rattle from the fire. He sat up and stared at the orc, but he did not even move, as if the elf, crouched on the rug, was nothing more than just a brush of wind. 

But it wasn't that spectacular, blatant oversight, as at the dinner. To his apprehension the Elf suddenly realized that the orc was actually not aware of his presence. He sat by the fire and stared blindly into its flames as if mesmerized by its glow. The strange mysterious sound coming out his throat became stronger and stronger. It was no longer just the shapeless, insignificant rhythm, but it slowly turned into something vibrant, passing smoothly from one tone to another. When it finally became a loud roar, that sprawled across whole plain.

With a sharp pang of horror, Legolas suddenly realized that he knew that sound. 

Abruptly he was standing in the middle of the dark night among the other archers on the walls of Helm's Deep. All still, motionless, with their bowstring taut to limit, silent, waiting. And from the endless distance a terrible shriek is floating to him and to his peers in arms. It's a strange scary thundering of hundreds, or perhaps thousands of enemy's throats, accompanied by the frantic throbbing of drums from which their hair was bristling and the blood in their veins was freezing. None of them spoke, but Legolas was sure that they all felt the premonition of their own deaths at that moment.

Now it feels, as he was enchanted, he stared at the stunning performance set in front of his shocked eyes.

Marghul didn't sit any longer. He set himself into a strange dance around the fireplace. He bounced fiercely, spinning around, stretching his arms and lifting them to the sky. His long hair, entangled in some elongated straight lumps, that had once been firmly tied by a piece of cloth, was now loose, wildly waved around his head, with dizzying speed they swung over the fire and flying through the air, as the orc jerked them in a violent unbridled seemingly random rhythm. His voice formed tortuous words in a strange language that the elf barely recognized. Suddenly he tore his waistcoat off, thrust his hands into the hot ash, and smeared it all over his face and torso.

The elf was rooted to the spot, nearly forgettig to breath. He didn't have the slightest idea what should this, by all the valar, mean, but again, and this time stronger he reminded himself of the strength and the horror that radiates of it. And it was just one lonely orc singing and dancing around the fire. Legolas would have sworn that if he saw this close back then at the remote night in the Helm's Deep, standing on the walls, his legs and hands would betray him a and he wouldn't have been able to fire a single arrow.

And at a moment he sincerely believed he couldn't be more terrified, the uruk turned and faced him. He looked down at him, half-naked, breathless, sweaty and eyes open wide, burning, darkly with a frantic passion. Elf's chin fell in mute astonishment. Before he could recover before he could do anything, even before he could take a single breath, the beast rushed to him, grabbed him by his clothes, and began to drag him ruthlessly toward the fire. The elf gave out a silent, barely noticeable groan, and lifted the tied arms to defend himself. But he was tossed by the fire and helplessly lying there as Marghul towered above him in his terrible madness. By his left hand he lifted his sword, blade terribly shining by the reflections of flames.  
"I need blood!" He hissed !Red blood!"


End file.
